


Land of Enchantment

by visiblemarket



Series: We'll Always Have New Mexico [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Bad Jokes, Fluff, M/M, Texting, agents of shield references, even though it takes place years earlier, for some reason, long distant relationships(ish)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:11:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/visiblemarket/pseuds/visiblemarket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton gets cock-blocked by a bunch of people he hasn't even met yet, but it all works out in the end.</p><p>(Or, Clint Barton's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Week.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's actually a lot of sex in this so I kind of feel dishonest about the cock-blocking thing.

The arm around his waist is intractable, and the body pressed against him from behind is firm. In the back of his mind, something akin to panic flickers, but the rest of his brain quickly smoothers it with impending realizations of warmth and familiarity and safety, and he sighs, not so much with relief, but with contentment. He's okay. He knows where he is, and he's okay. 

He can't tell if Phil's awake already. The rise and fall of his chest against Clint's back, the hot puffs of air against his neck, are slow and steady. But Clint wouldn’t put it past him to maintain that rhythm so as to not startle Clint out of sleep, so he never really knows.

Clint squirms. Phil presses a kiss to the side of his neck, and tightens his grip on Clint's waist, dragging him closer. 

"Hey," Clint mumbles, and Phil licks his neck. It's unexpected and it makes Clint press back against him, which is what Phil's counting on, probably, because Clint can feel him smile. He feels him inhale, then exhale, across Clint's shoulder. He does it again. It's strange.

"What are you doing?"

"You smell different, like…" Phil inhales deeply again. He noses at the base of Clint's neck. "Like my soap."

"Sorry? I showered before I came to bed, and…" he says, half shrugs. Phil chuckles, drowsy and fond, and presses his forehead against the side of Clint's shoulder.

"No, I like it." 

"Yeah?" Clint presses back against him. "How much?"

"Not that much," Phil says, but his hand slides down Clint's stomach all the same, slips under Clint's t-shirt and across Clint's skin. Clint squirms again, thrusts his ass back and against Phil's crotch. Phil's not hard yet, but he pushes back anyway, laughing.

"You're incorrigible," he says, dropping his hand lower and into Clint's boxers. His palm and fingers are calloused and rough, but his grip is a lot softer than it needs to be and his strokes are still slow and careful. 

Clint reaches down and wraps his hand around Phil's, follows its movement, tries to set a quicker pace. He's not above it. "Really? 'cause that kind feels like encouragement."

Phil pants against the back of his neck. "That's not what it means."

"I know what it means," he says, and Phil squeezes. Clint groans, and reaches back to grab at Phil's hip. Phil presses a wet, messy kiss the side of Clint's neck as his hand picks up a steady, rougher, rhythm. Clint squirms, presses his face into his pillow, tries to thrusts forward into the tight ring of Phil's fingers and back against the distracted twitch of Phil's dick where it’s digging into the small of his back.

When he comes, it's a mess, all over the sheets and Phil's hand and his shirt and his boxers. He doesn't think he gives a shit, but he doesn't exactly have much time to consider it before Phil's flipped him around, onto his back, and kissed him. 

Phil likes doing that, likes pinning him down and kissing him and manhandling him a little. It's never really rough (not that Clint would mind) but it's possessive in a way that Phil never is outside of the bedroom. Clint eats it up, wraps his arms around Phil's neck to keep him close, thrusts against the warm, solid weight of his body. Phil just keeps kissing him, like it's the only thing in the world he needs or wants to be doing right now, even though Clint can feel how hard he is and knows how close he must be.

"Wait, I…wait," Clint manages, when Phil pulls back to take a breath. Phil stills, and Clint's not ashamed to admit he kind of gets stuck staring at him, flushed and disheveled, lips red and wet and eyes half-shut. Clint smiles, and feels Phil's hip jolt, rutting his erection against Clint's stomach. 

"Fuck," Phil says, dropping his forehead against Clint's and laughing a little desperately. "Sorry."

Clint tips his head up, presses a quick kiss to Phil's lips and pulls back before Phil can return it. "'s good, it's fine, just…" he pushes Phil's hip until he rolls over, till they're lying on their sides and facing each other, and he darts in for another kiss. "Here," he says, and slides his hand across Phil's hip and around his cock. "Just let me—" he manages one stroke before Phil kisses him again, hard and desperate and with a whole lot of tongue. Clint tries not to get distracted but it's a whole lot easier to keep a steady rhythm once Phil pulls away again. 

And then Clint starts watching him, the way his breaths quicken and his eyes flutter, the way he runs a hand up and down Clint's arm, then ducks his head to press hot, fervent kisses to Clint's collarbone and shoulder. He's _so fucking enraptured_ with everything Phil does that for a moment he forgets what _he's_ supposed to be doing, just fucking _stares_ at him till Phil thrusts up into his hand and nips, just slightly, at the base of Clint's throat. Clint mumbles an apology and tries to get back with the program, pausing just long enough to lick a wet stripe across his palm before wrapping it around Phil's straining cock again.

Phil comes quietly most of the time, and this morning is no exception, but Clint's grown to appreciate it, to treasure each sharp, quick gasp and the soft sigh that blooms against his throat when he does. Clint pulls him closer, wraps him up tight in his arms, and very carefully does not think about how perfectly they fit and how completely he doesn't want to let Phil go. 

It's too soon, he knows it, knows that much even though he’s kind of an idiot about this kind of thing. But he doesn't want to tense up and freak Phil out and so he doesn't, he breathes evenly and kisses the top of Phil's head and hopes for the best. 

"You should've just fucked me," he says, and Phil laughs again, that warm, slightly loopy laugh he only has after sex or sometimes the good drugs. 

"Next time." 

"Any time," he says, fully aware of how sappy it sounds, but smiles anyway when Phil nuzzles against his chest and sighs happily. 

He wants it to last longer. Wants to spend the whole morning tangled up in Phil and his soft sheets and the scant light creeping through the curtains.

But it's Thursday morning, and Phil is _Agent Coulson_ pretty much non-stop from Monday to Friday, which means he will never be late for work, no matter how willing Clint is to make it worth his while. And so, after about fifteen minutes of drowsy bliss and post-coital snuggling, Phil stretches, drops a quick kiss to Clint's sternum, and eases himself out of Clint's arms.

"Hey…" Clint tries, reaching out for him, but Phil is impervious to his advances, at least on weekdays, and just chuckles. 

"I'm going to get us some coffee," he says, mildly, and Clint sighs and flops back down on the bed. 

He dozes off. 

He's not proud of it, but it's been a long week and this had been the first decent night's sleep he'd had in ages, and when he wakes up there's a mug of coffee on the table by his head and he can hear Phil in the shower. 

He should get up; he's got today and Friday to go before he's officially On Vacation and should maybe use the last couple of days before leave to be as productive as possible. Agent Coulson would do it for sure, if he ever got so far as taking a vacation.

Yeah, he should _definitely_ be getting up by now. But Phil's bed is so warm, and it still smells like Phil, and rolling over and pressing his face into the pillows for just a few more minutes isn't going to kill him. Agent Barton doesn't need half of the morning routine Agent Coulson requires (seeing as Agent Barton is basically just Clint with slightly nicer jeans, and maybe a tac suit if necessary). 

He's still in bed when Phil comes out of the bathroom, and he half watches, half imagines, Phil's journey from drawer to drawer to closet, in search of socks and underwear and a fresh shirt. 

There is something about that, about not only having seen Phil in (and out) of his clothes, but also knowing where he keeps his tidily folded pairs of tighty-whities, that Clint continues to find intoxicating, and not a little strange. 

He smiles to himself, and burrows in a little more, so Phil won't see and wonder why he's grinning like a dork. 

"I hear you've got some days coming up."

Clint barely lifts his head. "Yeah. Whole week."

"Do you have plans?" He's standing in front of the mirror, in just his dress shirt, doing up his tie; Clint watches his hands shake, just a little, and tries not to panic. He sits up. 

"Nah. Figured I might as well enjoy not bein' shuttled around while I had the chance, you know?"

"Okay," Phil says, mild. Careful. "You can stay here if you want."

"What, like for the weekend?"

"Like for the week. If you want. I could take next Friday off, we could..." Phil shrugs to himself. He doesn't turn around, but his reflection glances at Clint. "Do something?"

" _Something_?" Clint waggles his eyebrows and Phil laughs.

"Like a roadtrip, something. But we can do that too."

"You sure?"

"About the roadtrip, the week, or the something?"

Phil, for some incomprehensible reason, loves roadtrips, and he's also pretty big on the _something_. Clint needs no clarification on those. 

"The week."

"If you want. I know you hate on base housing."

"No, _you_ hate on base housing. I swear, you fall out of my bed _one_ time, and—" 

"That bed is not built for two, Barton."

"Unlike this baby," he says, patting mattress beside him. Phil's bed is pretty great, beyond the obvious advantage of having Phil in it for at least four hours a night. Not too soft, big enough to fit three. Not that it'll ever need to: Clint's not especially inclined to share.

"Exactly," Phil says, and walks over. Once he's close enough, he runs a hand through Clint's hair, gently tips his head back, and kisses him. 

It's a nice kiss, even though it's not going anywhere. When it ends, Phil's still stroking his hair, and his eyes are still shut and he looks so peaceful, just for a second, before he seems to remember himself.

"Yes?" Phil says, looking halfway between cautious and terrified, and like he's trying his best to look unconcerned.

"Yeah, okay," he mumbles, and does a very good job of acting like he's not freaking out. 

Phil leans in to kiss him again, and this time Clint goes for it a little more, makes it dirty enough that Phil will regret not staying in bed a little longer. When Phil pulls away, he's blushing, and Clint tries not to grin.


	2. Chapter 2

It's a pretty boring day. 

He catches up on paperwork; might as well, and it has the added benefit of being something he can do in Phil's office. 

Not that Phil's there; Clint's luck has never been that good, and instead of enjoying some quality time with his—handler, he gets to hang out on said handler's couch and watch him come and go from meetings, and get progressively more annoyed as the day goes by. Not so much that anyone would notice, but Clint has spent a lot of time watching Agent Coulson and knows what each wrinkle between his eyes means. By six o'clock, he knows better than to let Phil go to the last debriefing he's scheduled for. He packs up his shit, grabs Phil's arm as he comes through the door, and starts to hustle him out of the building.

"Barton."

"Yessir?"

"What are you doing?"

"Taking you home, sir."

"I've still got to meet with Agents Cole and Schnieder about Cartagena."

"Sitwell can handle it." 

"Oh?"

"He said he's been looking forward to it, sir." 

Phil gives him a look eloquent enough to express that while he sincerely doubted that, he was willing to go along with it, so long as this kind of forcible rescue did not become a regular occurrence. 

Clint gives him a look back, one that drips sincerity and total respect for the chain of command, and probably quite a lot of gooey feelings for Phil himself. The last part wasn't intentional, but Clint was pretty sure he couldn't help himself.

Phil sighed. "Fine. But you're making dinner."

*

Clint does make dinner. Nothing special, just ground beef and pasta from a box. Easy to make and hard to ruin, which isn't usually a problem but Phil can be very distracting in the kitchen. He winds his arms around Clint's waist from behind as Clint stirs, and kisses the back of his neck. He's still tense, but Clint isn't about to ask about it, not directly.

"You still smell like my soap," Phil says, though what Clint knows he means is _you still smell like me_ , and what he _really_ means is _I love that you still smell like me. _

At least, that's what Clint assumes he means, because that's why Clint keeps doing it. He turns his head to the side and pouts a little; Phil leans in and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. 

"You okay?" he says, and Phil presses his forehead against Clint's shoulder. 

"I'm fine. There's a situation but it's—" Phil sighs. "It's classified."

Clint ducks his head and smiles to himself, mostly because Phil won't see; it's weird, but while Phil used to have no problem at all keeping him out of the loop about things above his clearance level, ever since they've started sleeping together, he gets all squirrely about it. Clint can't tell if it's because it reminds him of the fact he still outranks Clint, or because he feels guilty about keeping things from him in general. Clint, for his part, used to get pissed at the 'it's classified' line, especially when it had to do with a job he was doing, but now he sees how much it kills Phil and, well, it tends to result in Phil being especially accommodating. Clint tries not to take advantage. 

He turns off the burner and turns in Phil's arms. "Hey," he says, pressing his hands to Phil's chest. He's taken off his suit jacket and his tie, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. It's one of Clint's favorite looks on him. "You hungry?"

Phil smiles, mostly with his eyes, but just enough that Clint knows he knows where this is going. "Yes."

Clint plays with the button right below Phil's clavicle and stares, pretty blatantly, at his neck. "You want to eat right now?"

"I can wait," Phil says, and leans in. 

"Good answer," Clint says, and kisses him. Phil practically sweeps him away from the stove and up against the wall.

There's a whole lot of very intense making out after that: Phil presses right up against him, warm and solid in the best possible way, and handsy as hell. Clint doesn't think he'll ever be over how much Phil seems to enjoy just touching him, as if he's amazed he's been allowed to. He curves up against him and kisses back, squirming a little when Phil grabs his ass. 

"Okay?" Phil says, and Clint nods, quick and fevered. Phil kisses him again, and starts to tug him away from the wall. Drags him out to the living room and pushes him onto the couch. Clint goes, gladly, props his head against the arm of the couch as waits for Phil to follow him down, to cover Clint's body with his own and keep kissing him senseless. 

Phil seems to have other ideas. He pushes Clint's legs apart and kneels between them, and slowly, almost meticulously, unbuttons Clint's jeans and slides the zipper down, then pushes his underwear out of the way.

"Phil," he says, not for any real reason, just to have Phil look up at him right now, and smiles when Phil does. They look at each other for a moment and then Phil ducks his head, chuckling a little. 

Phil sucks him off slow, dragging his lips along Clint's cock, wrapping his arms around Clint's thighs and pulling him down to where he wants him. Phil's unsurprisingly awesome at giving head, swallowing him down pretty much all the way and still taking the time to slide a hand up under Clint's shirt to play with his nipples. His other hand stays flat on Clint's hip, holding him down as he sucks and licks and works his throat around the head of Clint's dick. Clint groans and shudders, reaches down just to be able to touch him somewhere, and Phil takes his hand and twines their fingers together and it's so _nice_ , so sweet of him that Clint, who's really stupidly close to coming already, whines and pants and may start begging, he's not even sure. 

And then Phil seems to lose his rhythm for a second and slips his hand out from under Clint's shirt. Clint glances down: Phil's head is still bobbing up and down and he's regained that patient, steady rhythm of before, but one of his hands is fumbling with something in his pocket, and it's then that Clint realizes he can hear the familiar buzz of Phil's phone on vibrate.

"You wanna take that?" he chokes out, and feels Phil go a little tense between his legs. Phil pulls off, and to his credit, he seems pretty ashamed of himself about it, and between that and the fact that he looks wrecked (lips swollen, hair mussed, bright pink flush across his cheeks), Clint's finding it hard to be _that_ pissed. Still: " _Seriously?_ Let it go to voicemail."

"I did," Phil says, and his voice sounds a little rough, probably from having Clint's cock pretty much all the way down his throat. He rubs distractedly at Clint's hip; Clint kind of wants to kill him. "This is the second call." That’s not a great sign, and they both know it. The phone’s still buzzing, and Phil sits up, sighs, presses something, and answers it with his usual, clipped "Coulson."

Clint lets his head fall back; he can't really hear what's going on at the other end of the conversation, but Phil's looking Not Happy, and it's the second call, and Clint knows SHIELD well enough to know the rest of his night and probably his weekend is looking a hell of a lot lonelier than it was a couple of minute ago. And the worst of it is, he's still hard, and he's still got Phil brushing his thumb against his hip, though Phil’s probably not even aware he’s doing it, and Clint’s dick is really, really eager to be the center of attention again. 

He's half-way decided to just jerk himself off and get it over with, when he realizes that Phil, who is still on the phone and nodding as if whoever's on the line (Clint vaguely thinks he hears Sitwell, but he can't be sure) can see him, is also looking at Clint with a measured expression. Clint furrows his brow, and because he's looking so closely at Phil's face, he doesn't notices Phil's hand sliding over and curling around his cock. 

Phil lifts his eyebrows: _Okay?_ he seems to say, _no pressure_ , and Clint almost laughs, but doesn't, just nods, maybe a little too fervently. Phil makes an almost silent _shhh_ sound, pursing his lips to do it, and Clint nods again, _definitely_ too fervently, and turns his head so it's half-buried in the couch cushions and tries to make no sound at all as Phil starts stroking at him. His dick's already slick from the blowjob and that makes Phil's hand slide easily, and he jerks Clint off with incredible efficiency given the fact that he's multitasking. Clint comes hard and fast, all over his shirt and probably also on the couch, and on Phil, who is _still talking_ when he's done. 

Clint wants to laugh, hysterically, but he doesn't. He just shuts his eyes and listens to Phil, who's all "Well, if the Director thinks it's necessary…" and "I don't think that's a good idea" and "Fine". Clint knows that version of "Fine", actually, and opens his eyes to see Phil turn the phone off and throw it behind him on the couch in a rare show of actual annoyance. 

"What's up?" Clint says, and finds himself suppressing a giggle, because for all he knows, Phil's still hard, and maybe that's not the best thing to say.

Phil just shakes his head, a silent plea for a moment before having to explain, and pinches the bridge of his nose. Even Clint wiggling down and wrapping his legs around Phil's waist does not do the trick in terms of calming him down. 

He does apologize, though, and set about tucking Clint back in and zipping him back up. When he's done, he sighs. "I have to go to California."

"You gonna tell me why?" 

Phil looks like he's not sure if he can, and Clint's going to let him off the hook, but then Phil frowns, shrugs, and ducks in to give Clint a quick kiss. As he pulls back, his expression serious, he says: "Tony Stark's having some kind of breakdown."

"Stark's always having some kind of breakdown," Clint says, more flippantly than it really merits, but Tasha's out there and can handle almost anything. He's allowed to be petty about Phil being dragged out there to be redundant. 

Phil laughs to himself, and starts pulling away and getting off the couch. "Not like this. The Director's heading down there tonight, and…"

And that's all Clint really needs to know. "Shit," he says, although he really shouldn't be surprised. This is 100% his type of luck. Phil nods, and reaches out a hand; Clint takes it and lets himself be leveraged off the couch. "When do you leave?"

Phil checks his wrist, which currently does not have a watch on it, rolls his eyes, and ducks down to retrieve his phone. "An hour."

"An hour _from now_?" Clint groans in sympathy. Phil gives him a hopeless, tight little smile, and Clint is kind of at a loss. 

"Do you need help packing?"

"No, I've got it." 

Clint recognizes the look on his face and knows that what he needs to do most at the moment is stay out of his way. He heads for the kitchen, pulling out his own phone as he goes.

*

"Hey."

Phil doesn't look up from where he's arranging things in his suitcase. "Yes?"

"Be careful out there." 

Phil gives him a look. "The day I can't handle a Tony Stark temper tantrum—"

"The guy's dying." Phil's hands stop moving. "And that does weird things to people. They get…desperate, and a desperate genius with a multi-million dollar weapon system and an addictive personality is just asking for trouble."

"How did you know he was dying?"

Clint shrugs and waves his phone.

"I called Tasha."

Phil rubs a hand over his face. "Good to know five levels of security protocols are no match for the Strike Team Delta rumor mill."

"Are you seriously pissed about that? I only asked her after—" Clint shakes his head. "Whatever. I won't talk to her about classified shit anymore, it's fine."

"No, I'm just—" Phil reaches out, as if to grab his wrist, but stops himself halfway and ends up reaching for another pair of shoes. "I'm not pissed. Just promise me you won't let them rope you into this."

"This?"

"This whole Stark situation. You've earned your week off."

"Okay. Fine. Call me when you get back?"

"You can stick around. Here." Phil looks vaguely horrified at what he's just heard come out of his own mouth, but he squares his shoulders and powers through it. "If you want." 

"Seriously?"

Phil shrugs, and turns around to zip up his suitcase. "Someone needs to water the plants?"

This may be true in a general sense, but Clint's been in and out of Phil's apartment for a couple of weeks now and he has yet to see one. 

"Okay," Clint says, feeling a little soft and mushy about it, but determined not to let it show. "Want me to drop you off?"

"Fury's sending a car," Phil says, and then he turns around and gets one look at Clint's face. "But I'll call and cancel it. Ready in ten?"

"Five. Just uh," he waves vaguely at the front of his shirt, and gives his most shit-eating grin. "Gotta change my shirt, you know?"

Phil blushes, nods briskly as if he hadn't, and bustles off in search of something to distract himself with.

*

Phil is _immaculate_ by the time Clint pulls up to the airstrip, all buttoned up and tidy and serious. It's kind of amazing to have seen the transformation, and Clint's about to say something about it as he puts the car in park, but Phil just squeezes the back of his neck, leans over, and gives him a quick peck on the lips. Clint tries not to look too surprised.

"Be good, sweetheart," he says, in his best suburban housewife voice, and Phil smirks a little.

"You too, honey."


	3. Chapter 3

"Let me get this straight," Clint says, rummaging through Phil's refrigerator in search of the bottle of blue gatorade he _knows_ he left there less than a week ago. "Your job is to make sure Tony Stark finishes his chemistry homework?"

"It's a little more complicated than that," Phil says, but Clint notices that's not actually a denial.

"Are you sure you don't want me coming out there, sir?" he says, giving up on the quest for the lost gatorade, and begins debating whether he's up to putting on pants in order to head down to the corner store. 

"Your vacation hasn't even started yet, Barton. You can't possibly be that bored already." Phil's laughing a little, but it's gentle, and Clint grins, thankful that Phil can't see him. "It's not exactly a thrill a minute out here, either. Last I checked, he was watching newsreels."

"I'd rather be bored with you, sir."

"That's so sweet," Phil says, dry as hell, and Clint laughs as he walks out of the kitchen and toward the bedroom. 

"How long?" he says, sitting down on the bed, and thinking about how just yesterday, he was sitting in the same place and Phil was running his hands through his hair. 

"As long as it takes, I think." Phil is actually letting himself sound exhausted, which is pretty unusual, and Clint feels bad. 

"Well, he _is_ a genius. And he built that thing in the middle of nowhere, out of scrap metal, with a fuckin' magnet in his heart."

"And it only took him three months."

"Yeah," Clint sighs, leaning back. The pillows still smell like Phil, and that should be comforting, but it's mostly just frustrating. "Yeah, I get it."

*

Clint goes to bed early that night.

He feels like shit about it, actually, like there's _got_ to be something better he should be doing with his time, but Phil's not around and his apartment, which is perfect for two people, suddenly feels too big for one. So he shuts his eyes, and drifts, half-remembering, half-dreaming about last weekend.

(Saturday morning, and Clint had gone out for a run. Come back, showered, and walked into Phil's bedroom to find Phil surrounded by carefully stacked case files, with his laptop propped on his lap, and a packet of sticky notes, a highlighter, and a pen on the night stand.

"Hey?" he said, not sure if he should be insulted. Phil barely glanced up at him.

"Sorry. Just trying to catch up on everything."

"Been distracted lately, huh?" Phil shrugged and reached for an open folder. Clint unwrapped the towel around his waist and used it to dry off his hair one last time before throwing it onto a chair. Phil didn't even have anything say about that, didn't even seem to notice, but when he did look up, Clint saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed audibly.

"Come over here," he said, voice low, and Clint, just to be a dick, stayed exactly where he was.

"I don't think there's enough room for me over there." 

Phil rolled his eyes, but pushed everything (except for the laptop, because Phil would make a point but he wouldn't destroy SHIELD property) onto the floor. "Happy?" 

" _So_ happy," Clint said, and walked over; he could've been a little more seductive about it, probably, but from the way Phil was looking at him, he was doing well enough. He straddled Phil's lap easily; the coarse fabric of his pants against Clint's skin would get uncomfortable soon enough, but at the moment, it was just rough enough to be enticing. He could feel Phil's dick hardening against his own, and looked down into Phil's soft blue eyes. 

"I don't like you bringing work home," he said, rocking against him, slow and deliberate.

Phil bit at his lower lip, trying to keep in a moan, and slid his hands around Clint's waist. "I brought you home," he said, teasing him a little.

"I'm an exceptional circumstance."

"You are," Phil said, sincerely, and twisted his fingers through Clint's hair before leaning up to kiss him.

Phil didn't even make it all the way out of his clothes. Clint just ripped his pants open and fucking _mounted_ him, rode his cock till Phil fucking _growled_ at him and flipped them over, driving into Clint so hard they almost fell off the bed. It was amazing.)

Clint wakes up hard and with a hand around his cock and he's so pissed off that it's his own that he jerks himself off as fast as he can and tries to get as little pleasure from it as possible, but, well. He's in Phil's bed, and pressing his face into Phil's pillow, and he can't help the little aching moans that force their way out at the thought of Phil being there with him. 

When he's done, he actually feels kind of good. He rolls over and sees that his phone is blinking. It's a message from Phil.

 ** _good night barton_** , it says, and Clint sighs and wishes he'd called instead, though he knows better than to think Phil would risk waking him up. 

**just came in your bed** , he texts back, mostly to find out what Phil will do. As an afterthought: **wish you were here**

There's no response for a while. He's not really expecting one right away, if at all, so he goes to the bathroom and gets a drink of water. When he gets back, his phone is blinking again. All the message says is:

**_:P_ **

Clint looks at his phone again. It's _not possible_. Super Agent Phil Coulson has just sent him, not only an emoticon, but a _sticking his tongue out_ emoticon. In response to a sext. He laughs, embarrassingly loud, and sends back: 

**:D**

Five minute pass. Clint does not spend them checking his phone every few seconds. Then it buzzes.

**_go to sleep clint_ **

**sir yes sir**

*

The next day, he decides to go to the range and put in a few practice hours. That used to be pretty par for the course before he started spending the night at Phil's, and he's maybe a little worried about getting out of shape.

He ends up checking his phone every five minutes, and after an hour of that, he grumbles to himself and types out:

**whats the worst thing about robin hoods house?**

**_??_ **

**it's got a little john ;)**

**_awful._** Clint laughs to himself, but stops when the next one comes in: _**I miss you too.**_

He doesn't have anything to say after that. Just tucks the phone back into his pocket and picks up his bow.

*

He checks his phone before he leaves: two messages.

**_Why was the archaeologist depressed?_ **

**_His career was in ruins._ **

Clint groans and shakes his head. 

**that was worse than mine.**

**_I got it from Jasper_ **

**figures**

**you busy?**

**_obviously not_ **

He dials Phil's number. "How's it going?"

"Not bad," Phil says, though he sounds distracted. There's the sound of something heavy falling in the background, but if Phil's not going to comment on it, neither is he. "Stark made a break for it."

"You tackle him to the ground and make him cry uncle?"

Phil laughs. "I wish. I was kinda busy."

"Doing what?"

Phil makes a _hmmm_ sort of sound, which Clint takes to mean "Classified, but I can't even tell you that much".

"He making any progress?"

"It looks like he might be, actually." And Clint isn't going to _ask_ , but he shuts up in the hope that Phil will keep talking and mention when he'll be back. He hates himself, a lot, for caring. 

"Phil—" he starts, and then is interrupted by a beeping noise; he checks his phone, but it's not him.

"Sorry," Phil says. "I think that's me. I'll call you back?"

"Okay," he says, though he's pretty sure Phil's hung up already.

*

He drives back to Phil's apartment. His phone blinks at him:

**_what do you call a ghost at a hotel?_ **

_an inn specter._

Clint laughs in spite of himself, and calls Phil again. 

"You hear the one about the guy who's afraid of flying?"

"I told you that one," Phil says.

"I tell it better."

"I know you do," Phil's voice is soft, and he's smiling, Clint can tell, and that makes him smile. _Screw it_ , he thinks, and goes for it.

"You coming back soon?"

There's a pause; he hears Phil sigh. "About that. There's another…situation. There's been some meteorological disturbances over the past few days, and now there's an 0-8-4."

"Where?" 

"New Mexico."

Clint lets himself flop onto the bed and throws an arm over his eyes. "Land of Enchantment," he says, and Phil snorts. 

"God, I hope not."

"You worried about this one, Coulson?"

"Do you think I should be?"

Clint shrugs. "Can't be any worse than trying to make Stark eat his vegetables."

"He's starting to grow on me," Phil says, and sounds distantly disgusted at the prospect. 

"Better get outta there quick then, sir."

"Whatever you say, Barton."


	4. Chapter 4

Two hours after Phil calls, one day before the start of Clint's first official vacation since joining SHIELD, Tony Stark goes and blows up half of Queens. 

Which means that, given Clint's run of fan-fucking-tastic luck, he gets called up to take part in the clean-up efforts. He spends the rest of his Saturday and most of his Sunday picking through the remains of Stark Expo, helping dismantle Hammer Droids, and ignoring Natasha's pointed comments about all the times she'd seen Phil sneaking off to check his phone.

He goes to sleep on Sunday night with nothing so much as the hope of staying in bed for at least two days straight, maybe more if Phil comes back by Wednesday.

He wakes up to a call from Nick Fury, who is an asshole, but an asshole who knows how to play Clint like no one else but Phil Coulson can. 

Still, though. Fuck his life.

*

Phil's Agent Coulson when Clint gets to Puente Antiguo, and pretty much stays Agent Coulson throughout, even with the rain, the explosions, the alien gods, and the all-too-common near-death experience.

But he gets in the car when Clint tells him to, and falls asleep on the drive to the airfield, which is something Agent Coulson would probably be categorically incapable of doing in a subordinate's presence, even if he was half-dead. Clint tries not to gloat about it, but when they get on the plane, he has absolutely no problem dropping his head on Phil's shoulder, closing his eyes, and sleeping straight through the whole flight back to New York.

*

The arms around him are loose but familiar, and the chest hair tickling his nose makes him want to sneeze.

He nuzzles closer instead, pressing a kiss to Phil's sternum, then another, a warm, dry trail up to his neck. Phil sighs and rolls over onto his back, pulling Clint on top of him as he goes. "What time's it?" 

"Too early," Clint says, but leans up to kiss him anyway. Phil kisses back; half asleep but waking up, running his fingers through Clint's hair and down Clint's spine. 

"God, you're beautiful," Phil mumbles, practically into Clint's mouth, and it's more than Phil will usually say, in or out of bed. Clint feels himself blushing over it, but they're so close that there's no way Phil can tell. He rubs against Phil impatiently, and Phil smiles against his lips and flips them over again, pressing him down into the mattress and slipping his tongue into Clint's mouth. 

Clint squirms, trying to get out of his underwear and stopping once he manages to get his cock out, because it's rutting against Phil's stomach and that feels _amazing_ , and even better when Phil slips a hand between them and starts to jack him off. 

"Phil," he says, breathless as Phil starts sucking at skin where his neck meets his shoulder. " _Phil_."

"Mm?" 

"I'm seriously going to need you to fuck me. Soon. Right now."

"Oh, _seriously_?" Phil chuckles a little, even as he's panting into Clint and running his hands fervently over Clint's abs. "Yeah, that sounds…pretty serious…"

"Shut up," Clint says, and surges up against him, kissing him so hard their teeth click. " _Please_ ," he whines when they break apart, and Phil makes a sharp, almost pained sound and reaches up. He pushes back some of Clint's hair and kisses him again, just as fiercely, and Clint feels like he's going to pass out from the lack of air, feels himself getting all loose and pliant from the attention. Phil pulls back after a moment, wild-eyed and not a little desperate. Clint can feel his cock dripping against his hip.

"Hold on," Phil says, reaching over to the nightstand and fumbling the drawer open. Clint ruts up against him the whole time, grabbing at Phil's hips hard enough to bruise. 

Phil finally finds what he's looking for and after that it's quick, quicker than Clint expected, as Phil eases him open and fingers him, rubbing carefully at his prostate, till Clint's chest starts to heave, till he doesn't think he can stand it anymore. Phil pulls his fingers out and slides his cock in and Clint wonders if it'd actually be possible to pass out from this, from how good it feels to have Phil inside of him. He hasn’t yet, but he’s not about to count it out as a possibility.

He wraps his arms around Phil and groans as Phil starts to thrust. Throws his head back, and Phil licks at the base of his throat and up his neck. He pants against Clint's ear, hot and unsteady, and Clint turns his head just to be able to bury his face in Phil's hair. 

Phil comes first, burying himself as deep into Clint's body as he can go, and Clint follows within seconds, pulling Phil closer, making sure he stays where he is.

*

They don't clean up afterwards. They barely even move. The only concession they make to the fact that they're both now naked is that Clint drags the sheets over from where they've been pushed to the edge of the bed, and yanks them over Phil's back.

"Hey," he says, a few minutes later, as he runs his fingers through the short hairs at the nape of Phil's neck.

"Yes?" Phil mumbles into his collarbone. 

He drums his fingers against Phil's shoulder. "Knock-knock."

Phil groans. "Really?"

"C'mon, Phil. Knock-knock."

Phil lets out an exasperated huff of air. "Who's there?"

"Olive."

"Olive who?"

"Olive you," he says, and waits for Phil to work it out. It doesn't take him long, even in his fucked-out haze, and when he lifts his head he's wearing the most hopeful expression Clint has ever seen; Clint looks back, forcing himself to smile when he really just kind of wants to throw up. 

"Yeah?" Phil says, eventually, and Clint nods, quickly, because, _Yeah_.

Phil grins, leans up, and presses his forehead against Clint’s. "You're _impossible_ ," he says, and kisses him, just once, before settling back down on Clint's chest.

Clint smiles, and traces down Phil's spine. "I thought I was incorrigible?"

"You're both." His tone is so warm that Clint has to see him, has to look at him properly; Phil's gazing up at him, eyes practically sparkling with how happy he is. "And just so you know?”

"Yeah?"

"I love you, too."

Clint blushes. "Yeah, okay."

**Author's Note:**

> So, as is probably pretty obvious, most of this takes place during the events of _Iron Man 2_ and _Thor_ , concurrent to _Fury's Big Week_ , which I've stolen some bits from (though I'm sure I screwed with the timeline a little, or like, a lot). 
> 
> I also feel I should mention, because I'm a horrible person, that this was at least mostly conceived of [right after my mother and I watched _Iron Man 2_ together](http://morethanonepage.tumblr.com/post/54876791456/i-rewatched-iron-man-2-with-my-mom-today-and-it) and I remembered just how pissy Phil seems to be during it. Thanks, Mom! I bet you'd be so proud of me for this. *laughs forever*


End file.
